To animate the doubtful fight,
Namur in vain expects that ray : In vain France hopes, the fickly light Should fhine near William's fuller day: It knows Versailles, its proper ftation; Nor cares for any foreign sphere: Where you fee Boileau's constellation, Be fure no danger can be near..
The French had gather'd all their force ; And William met them in their way : Yet off they brush'd, both foot and horse. What has friend Boileau left to say? When his high Mufe is bent upon't,
To fing her king-that great commander, Or on the fhores of Hellefpont,
Or in the valleys near Scamander; Would it not spoil his noble task,
If any foolish Phrygian there is, Impertinent enough to afk,
How far Namur may be from Paris?
Two ftanzas more before we end,
Of death, pikes, rocks, arms, bricks, and fire Leave them behind you, honest friend;
And with your countrymen retire.
Déja jusques à ses portes
Je voi monter nos cohortes,
La flame & le fer en main : Et fur les monceaux de piques,
De corps morts, de rocs, de briques, S'ouvrir un large chemin.
C'en eft fait. Je viens d'entendre Sur ces rochers éperdus
Battre un fignal pour se rendre ; Le feu ceffe. Ils font rendus. Dépoüillez vôtre arrogance, Fiers ennemis de la France, Et deformais gracieux, Allez à Liege, à Bruxelles, Porter les humbles nouvelles De Namur pris à vos yeux.
Your ode is fpoilt: Namur is freed; For Dixmuyd fomething yet is due: So good count Guiscard may proceed; But Boufflers, Sir, one word with you.- XVI.
'Tis done. In fight of thefe commanders, Who neither fight, nor raise the fiege, The foes of France march fafe through Flanders; Divide to Bruxelles, or to Liege.
Send, Fame, this news to Trianon,
That Boufflers may new honours gain : He the fame play by land has fhewn, As Tourville did upon the main. Yet is the Marshal made a peer: O William, may thy arms advance! That he may lofe Dinant next year, And fo be conftable of France.
THE merchant, to fecure his treasure,
Conveys it in a borrow'd name : Euphelia ferves to grace my measure; But Cloe is my real flame.
My fofteft verfe, my darling lyre, Upon Euphelia's toilet lay; When Cloe noted her defire,
That I fhould fing, that I should play.
My lyre I tune, my voice I raise, But with my numbers mix my fighs; And, whilft I fing Euphelia's praise, I fix my foul on Cloe's eyes.
Fair Cloe blush'd: Euphelia frown'd: I fung, and gaz'd: I play'd, and trembled:
And Venus to the Loves around
Remark'd, how ill we all diffembled.
PRESENTED TO THE KING, AT HIS ARRIVAL IN HOLLAND, AFTER THE DISCOVERY OF
"Serus in cœlum redeas, diúque “Lætus interfis populo Quirini :
"Néve te noftris vitiis iniquum
YE careful angels, whom eternal Fate
Ordains, on earth and human acts to wait Who turn with secret power this restless ball, And bid predeftin'd empires rife and fall: Your facred aid religious monarchs own, When first they merit, then afcend the throne: But tyrants dread you, left your juft decree Transfer the power, and fet the people free. See refcued Britain at your altars bow; And hear her hymns your happy care avow : That still her axes and her rods fupport The judge's frown, and grace the awful court; That Law with all her pompous terror stands, To wreft the dagger from the traitor's hands; And rigid Juftice reads the fatal word, Poifes the balance firft, then draws the fword. Britain her fafety to your guidance owns, That she can feparate parricides from fons ; That, impious rage difarm'd, fhe lives and reigns, Her freedom kept by him, who broke her chains.
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